Feb 20 2017

the sky is falling

you sing me songs of february summer
and i laugh at the absurdity
nothing makes sense anymore
and everything

is a tune
from those long ago years
when we believed
in certainty

i smile and i dance
at words
spilled from
wist and sunshine

so ripe with yesterday’s
short season of naiveté

when we were young
and you were golden
and i
was just a rose




Feb 7 2017

the ones who make us
smile stay with us

if i could choose a memory
to hold in my pocket
it would be that chuckle
the little grin
those mischievous eyes
that always spoke of spirit

and i know
you are here
in this room

i know
because the echo
of your heart
has not faded

i know
i need only
just to stop
and to listen

and i will hear

tiny butterfly wings
of flutter and grace

fragile and tenacious all at once

weaving tales of love
and remembrance
into the very air

i breathe you in, i let you go

i breathe you in, i let you go

you’re always there
always there


on the iridescent color
of laughter




yesterday we said goodbye to my aunt, my mother’s twin.
this was written as a tribute for my mom to read at the service.
you will be missed anut pat.
(an intentional misspelling that was part of our relationship)
may you be at peace.




Jan 22 2017

finding hope in tiny places


sometimes we have to take a step back

before we move forward

remember all the things we’ve forgotten

forget all the answers


the questions


there is always

beauty in life

life in growth

growth in pain


the cartography of tomorrow

is drawn from the pen

of present


tenacity is the bloom

of survival







Jan 10 2017

illumination (a discussion)

there is gold and there is freedom

you say neither one
in the grand scheme
of things

our hands are always left empty

i mention the scars
of experience

the stars

whisper something
of the moon

the way the sun
is always in your eyes

paper crinkled
and satisfied

or beckoning

i’m not sure which




Jan 4 2017

chaos is a pattern

just ask nature, she’ll be happy to let you know
that dance was invented by willows
weeping at winter’s impostor
and stars are made from moans left hanging
on a breeze in the corner of reflection


we are all mirrors on the same wall of eternity
chanting hope and charity with leavening


this circle this tree this mind mattering
tossed by cold gale and rent from warm earth
growth and decimation occur concurrently
it doesn’t matter where you stand
it doesn’t matter where you stand


darkness always returns
as does mo(u)rning





Dec 9 2016


snow falls gently through a sky bleeding sunshine

through the closed door i hear geese
warming their way through a morning
most of them will survive

i cling to small things. moments, really
and wish i could gift them to you

i know a whole list of people with that name

the miracles gather and hover
hoping to land, gently

winter is coaxing autumn to bed
with an ever-changing quilt
of cozy promises

a patch of blue peeks through worn cotton batting

needs no mending


Oct 25 2016


in my dreams i fly

to alaska

build a nest somewhere high

in the trees

lay in a stock of sharp pencils

marry words

to make sense of all i see





Today I am over at dVerse Poets, with a prompt about bucket lists and firsts.
One of the things at the top of my list is a trip to Alaska.
Come join us with a poem about yours.

Oct 19 2016

the kitchen window

which is not the same as the kitchen sink
because that would mean everything,

and this is just a window.

and just now, there is too much everything,
every minute.

i want clear blue sky and calm cool morning.

but it’s autumn and the colors are raucous
and speaking of raucous,
i’m missing those crazy-loud geese parties
down at the swamp
that aren’t happening this year

because there’s no swamp.

and i’m not writing because there are no words.

so i wait.

and winter will come and i will miss all this color
and wish for things I don’t have
the same way as today

and that bird in the tree,
that bluejay who spends his days
as a beautiful bully

and the monkshood just starting to bloom,
in amidst all the kisses that need cutting down

and this could all be metaphor
for so many things,
but it’s not, it’s all true,
right outside

this tiny kitchen in

this tiny house

this tiny life






Oct 15 2016

she’s delicate, she seems
like the mirror


on a small lake in maine

i found the color of departure






(title is a line from Dylan’s Visions of Johanna)

Sep 30 2016

on tying up loose ends

it feels like that’s what this year has been, this year of racing the unknown, scrambling up a mountain of change, lying down in a bed of blind faith.

i keep all the knots loose, for easy escape, and, of course, to make room for new growth.

but nothing stays tidy for long, i know that now.

the sun and the wind and the moon and the stars all conspire to change the shape of existence, sculpting time into their own artistic vision.

so what if i can’t see what they’re creating?

so what if my eyes sting with the strain of trying?

so what if the swamp dries up and the trees bend with thirst and the field of corn across the street turns brown before it reaches four feet tall?

we’re all running, away or toward. we’re all breathing in this air that touches everything and everyone.

we are all this vine turning back upon itself when there is nothing else to hold onto.

breathing in light and exhaling silence.

the flowers that plant themselves become my favorites.

grasping opportunity or fighting for survival, it’s all perspective.

it’s all lost in the cold of winter.

there are always new seeds being planted.

there are so many questions without answers hanging high in a colorless sky.

i leave them for the night that promises results.

i leave them for the bird that soars through hunger.

i leave them for the child that cries to untangle.

tomorrow is always weaving a new story.

today is a word lit by inhale.